


Love, Reign O'er Me

by Bliss_Smith



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: D/s, F/M, Power Exchange, one part gratuitous smut, one part headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bliss_Smith/pseuds/Bliss_Smith
Summary: Redcliffe Castle, after making plans for the Landsmeet. A lesson to show Alistair that being in charge doesn't have to be all bad.





	1. Chapter 1

She watches him pace, knowing he's trying to find the words he wants. She doesn’t mind waiting at all; she doesn’t get to see him like this often and it’s still a treat. He’s half dressed and completely unguarded, trying to burn off his nervous energy as he paces her borrowed bedroom. She wants him to join her on the bed, she knows plenty of ways she can distract him, but he needs to do this.

 

“I can’t do this,” he says finally. He’s standing in front of the fireplace, staring down into it like he’ll find answers there.

 

She’s drawn to him as always, when he isn’t moving she wants to be right there at his side. She wants it even when he is moving but that doesn’t work out at all. She’s learned to be patient, to watch and wait. She moves to him, sliding her arms around his waist as she rests her cheek against his back.

 

“Well it’s not like you have to do it tonight.”

 

“Look, that was, a promise or something. I grew up being told in no uncertain terms that the throne would never be mine. They told me I couldn’t have it and I liked that just fine. I’ve never been the person to want such a thing. And now they’re just, hey, step up and shoulder the responsibility for an entire country. I can’t lead, you know that.”

 

She can’t resist kissing his back, he’s so soft and warm she wants to nuzzle him. “I know no such thing. When you’re put in charge you excel, every time. I’ve watched you do it from the start. If you wanted to do it now I’d absolutely let you, and if you don’t know what it means for me to say that then you’ve not been paying attention to a few things.”

 

She kisses more, letting her hands start rubbing too because doesn’t he feel like heaven under her touch? She can’t imagine ever getting tired of the feel of him. She’s greedy for him in ways she never thought possible.

 

“Besides, like I said, you don’t have to do it tonight. Or even tomorrow night. But definitely not tonight, there’s other things to do instead of rule a country.”

 

He turns around to her, smiling down as he lets his hands find his favorite places. She likes his back, the sweet dip between his shoulders, the soft patch of downy hair and nerves between the dimples at the small of his back, but he likes her front, his thick, strong fingers always searching for her collarbone, for the slope of her neck.

 

“Like what?”

 

He presses against her and she can feel his nervous energy coil into something else, something hard and needy. She thinks of all the ways she can answer his question and tosses them all out, opting to act on instinct alone. She moves before she can talk herself out of it, hoping this isn’t going to be their first intimate fumble. There’s a lesson to be had among the sheets, she thinks, one he might not mind learning.

 

She kneels down quickly, settling in like she’s done it her whole life. He doesn’t say anything, just makes his little happily curious sound. She wants to laugh because she loves him so, and loves that sound above many, many things, but she manages to hold it back, to tilt her head to look up at him with perfect seriousness.

 

“Rule me, my Liege.”

 

He reaches down, letting his fingers brush her crown. His eyes are doing that hazely thing she loves so much, turning into little suns, gold for her to bask in. She wants to push her face into his crotch, let her lips find all the good hard spots.

 

“You know, one of us may be biting off more than they can chew but for once I’m not sure it’s me.”

 

His voice is deeper than usual, or seems to be, maybe it’s just the acoustics where she is but it sounds delicious and she can’t help but wonder what it might be like to be in over her head with him.

 

“Tell me the rules, love. What can’t I do?”

 

She understands what he’s asking, why it might be important but she also knows that’s part of the lesson. Maybe just her part but still.

 

“You can do anything you want.”

 

“But will you do anything I want?”

 

Something in the way he asks it sends a ripple up her back, the smallest tremor of wondering where they might wind up from this. That he made the distinction tells her she’s not the only one to have envisioned this particular moment. She drops her eyes, not in submission but in simple self-preservation, suddenly terrified of letting him see all the way inside her. She isn’t scared of him, she’s scared of herself but it’s already too late to back out. He would let her, easily and without question, but she also knows it can never be like this again. This immediate and natural.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Look at me, my love. No hiding. If you’re not going to set rules I will, and that’s the first one.”

 

She has to look up, even if he hadn’t told her his tone would have snapped her head right up anyway. That deep voice, still his but different. She can’t help but wonder what he wants her to do.

 

He brushes his fingers down, so soft on her face, tracing down from temple to cheek. “And you’re sure, that you want to open yourself to me like this? To every dark, dirty thought I’ve ever had about you?”

 

His words hit the spot, all the spots, lighting her up from top to bottom. She moves without thinking, turns her attention from his face to his crotch, doing what she’s always done with him, reaching up for the laces of his soft linen pants to take what she wants. She wants his hard cock in her soft hand, wants to make him growl so she can pull him down and climb on, ride him until they’re both crying.

 

“Be still.”

 

Her hand stops before the thought is fully registered. She looks back up in wonder, trying to reconcile the implacability of those two words with her soft, sweet Alistair.


	2. Chapter 2

He still looks soft and sweet, his happy grin the one he always wears for her, when he’s so delighted by her he can only laugh and try to remember how to breathe. That look means she can do anything, ask for anything, can make him stop dead in his tracks to give her whatever she might want. But for once there’s something else behind the look, something equally delighted, just not for the same reasons.

 

His words come back, feeling like a rope slowly winding around her ankle: _one of us may be biting off more than they can chew but for once I’m not sure it’s me._

 

Understanding falls on her, that she’s done what she never thought she would: she has underestimated him.

 

The thought becomes a spear in her chest, bringing tears to her eyes to know she’s done the one thing she never, ever should have. Everyone has always done that with him, so much it’s become second nature for him to do it to himself. She was supposed to do better and the knowledge that she hasn’t is bitter enough to leave her breathless. She wants to pretend he doesn’t know her mistake but that won’t work at all. She knows after a lifetime of seeing it he’ll always recognize that look.

 

She wants to say something but can’t find any words, any way to start. She can only look up at him in mute apology. The easy grin stays on his face but so does the hard look behind it. He kneels down slowly, until they are more level and he can cup her cheek. That he’s being so kind makes the spear stab deeper.

 

“Rest easy, my love. My level of devotion to you made that a predictable mistake. You have not wounded me, not in any way I haven’t earned.”

 

She can only nod and hold her breath, waiting for him to move them forward.

 

“I’ll ask again, now that you understand the rules are not what you thought they would be: Do you want to do this? Give yourself up to me, knowing you are not going to be in control of a single moment of it?”

 

She measures her answer, needing to make sure. She’s already made one misstep, one that could have damaged what they are building. Maybe not beyond repair but it doesn’t matter, damage is damage and it always leaves a weak spot behind it. So now that everything was more clear to her, did she still want this? Was she willing to learn a lesson or two herself?

 

It’s not a hard answer to find. She knows whatever the cost to her she has to keep going. She can’t pass on the chance to see this darkly mischievous side of him, this hard one not afraid to wield his heart or his power over her.

 

“Yes. Please, my liege.”

 

His lips brush her cheek, as soft as a feather as he works towards her ear. “Such a sweet answer, from such a sweet mouth. But know this, my love: I’m still going to punish you.”

 

She nods slowly, acknowledging and acquiescing. It doesn’t matter why, whether he’ll do it because he wants to or as actual discipline. She doesn’t know how she’ll handle it; the very idea is alien, she’s never been punished for a single misdeed in her life but if it’s going to happen let it happen for this, that she underestimated him. That she hurt him, even if it was merely an accidental scratch on his arm.

 

Her thoughts whirl and spin, between curious thoughts of how much can she bite off before her jaw breaks, and how she never saw this simmering behind his cheerful, easy demeanor. Did he merely hide it well, or was she too busy stuffing her ego on his obvious enthrallment? She’s willing to bet she knows that answer well enough but it doesn’t matter, what does is the matter at hand.

 

His hand, as a matter of fact, the one slowly slipping down her cheek, down to stroke her neck like it’s the finest silk he’s ever touched, down to press the ball of his thumb along her collarbone. She lets her head drop back, moaning softly because what comes next is his hot, sweet mouth tracing a line after his thumb, deep pressure lighting the nerves before sending wet heat along to scorch his desire into her skin.

 

Instead of a kiss she gets a chuckle, as his thumb presses down the slope of her breast. She arches up to his hand but as soon as she moves it does too, he pulls it away with the softest _tsk_ and she has to bite back a sob. They haven’t even started and she’s in over her head and when he stands back up she can only think: _anything for you._


	3. Chapter 3

 

He bends and picks her up easily and she can’t resist snuggling against him. She doesn’t need anyone to protect her, she’s fierce enough to defend herself, but being like this makes her safe in a way her skill with a sword doesn’t. Maybe it’s as simple as knowing she’s not alone but whatever it is, it finds the spear from earlier and stabs it back in her chest, letting her feelings leak out all over him.

 

He only carries her as far as the bed. As he lays her down she has to fight to not pull him down with her, to pull her arms away from him. He kisses her cheek softly and sits back on the edge, that happy grin and hard look never leaving.

 

“Snuggle up, get comfortable.”

 

She wants to know why, needs to, because an unwelcome thought is gathering steam, but she’s determined to not totally fail yet. She makes herself do as he said, turning on her side to snuggle down with a soft pillow before looking up at him. She tries to stay calm, keep her face cool and collected and wait for him to do what he wants, but that thought is splitting, getting too loud, becoming a question and an answer banging around in her head like loose pots in a fast moving cart: _What’s the worst punishment he can give you right now? He’s going to leave!_

 

“Please don’t leave me.” She whispers into the pillow but he hears it anyway, of course he does.

 

His smile softens, everything about him as tender and sweet as she could ask for. “Never, my love. For any reason.”

 

She nods and blinks back the tears, holding on to his words to keep herself steady.

 

“Now, are you ready?”

 

She’s not but she knows she might not ever be, considering she has no clue at all what she needs to be ready for. “Yes please, my Liege.”

 

His grin quirks up, from imp downright devil, that look he gets when they’re daring each other over sparring or cards or who can get out of their armor faster. “Do not move. At all.”

 

“For how long?” She doesn’t think twice about asking but the look on his face suggests she should have.

 

“I should have known you’d ask. My fault for not anticipating. You need to be quiet, no questions. Or comments. You only get to speak when I want you to.”

 

She’s torn between indignity and humor, unable to not admit what a chance she is giving him to set her back on her ass. Miss High Pockets, he calls her sometimes, when she’s letting herself get a little too haughty. He doesn’t mind, and never tries to curb it, he just lets her know what she’s doing, since she might miss it the way she’s looking down her nose.

 

So. One part comeuppance, one part dare, one part emotional skirmish. And she has to keep her mouth shut. She nods and tucks herself into the pillow, thinking surely she’s strong enough for whatever he’s going to throw at her.

 

The room is quiet, nothing but the sound of the fire popping, making it easy to hear his bare feet moving him somewhere behind her. She can’t tell how close he is to the bed, only that he is on that side of the room. She wants to burrow down into the pillow, hide her face and her ears but then she won’t know what’s happening, will she?

 

 _Be calm_ and she no sooner gets that thought in place than he tosses his pants onto the bed. His aim is perfect, the soft linen lands directly in her field of vision. She can’t drag her eyes away, she can only stare at the linen and wonder if it’s still warm from his skin, if it smells like him. She wants to reach out and snag the cloth, drag it over to press her face to the fabric, find his smell among the fibers. _Be still_ hangs in her head and she pulls her arm back to tuck it under her.

 

 _How can a pair of pants be so brutal?_ Because he knows her, and their simple linen presence gives her a pretty good idea of what her punishment is going to be. He knows what feeds her, knows what makes her eyes go dark and her heart race enough to burst from her chest.

 

She doesn’t want to listen for the sounds she knows are coming but how can she not? She doesn’t move, doesn’t try to peek, she only moves her head enough that both ears are unrestricted. She holds her breath, waiting, expecting another low laugh. Instead she hears him suck in air and give a low moan, a sound she knows all too well.

 

He’s touching himself in an intimate spot, she’s not sure where but behind tightly closed eyes she can imagine. Large, strong hand rubbing down his side, the sensitive spots that always make him shudder, fingers scratching down to tangle in his thick, soft pubic hair, rubbing his groin and the tops of his thighs as his breathing heats up. She can hear everything now, his low moans and the slick, wet sound of his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking and squeezing as he stands somewhere behind her.

 

Not knowing is almost more than she can bear. Is he watching her? Ignoring her? Laughing, smiling, furious? He’s letting himself go, not holding back, stroking his cock with an utmost purpose and she can’t help but think of every time he’s done it for her, with her, she knows the sounds so well and it’s _wrong_ , nothing but _wrong_ that she can’t even see him, can’t watch, can’t be any part of it except through her ears and her imagination.

 

She wants to say something, _I love you_ or _Maker please, give me your cock_ , anything to express how she’s burning up, how she’s dying of love for him, his body and his touch and his molten sun gaze of adoration and need. He is eviscerating her with the sound of his pleasure, he’s fucking his hand for all he’s worth, she can hear his cock dripping on the stone, hear his ragged growls and gasps. She loses herself somewhere in the sound, drawing down to a pinpoint of need and love, unaware she’s crying into the pillow, locked in to his sounds, _pleasepleasepleaseIloveyouplease_ the only coherent thought and as his breathing catches and accelerates even that goes, the sound of his orgasm the only thing left in her head.


	4. Chapter 4

He stops long enough to slip his pants on before sitting down on the bed. He adjusts his pillows against the headboard and settles in, always watching her. She wants to growl and demand he never do that again, she wants to slide off the bed to kneel by the side and whimper, she wants to laugh and cry and rip her clothes off. Instead she takes a deep breath and meets his eye, waiting. It’s hard to not speak, to wait for him to tell her she can but it’s not as hard as being still was. At least she can look at him as she waits. When he pats his thigh she doesn’t hesitate, moving quickly to curl against his leg, her head pillowed at the top.

 

He doesn’t say anything, just strokes her hair. She wants to melt under his touch, let herself puddle into nothing but surely there is more to say, right? She doesn’t know what she wants to say, only that she needs to say something, but she can’t. She agreed and it’s the hardest thing she’s ever done, lay there and not say a word when there are acres of them that need spoken.

 

But she knows she started this. She underestimated him and said let’s play, and instead he’s snatched her up by the short hairs and she knows there is an extremely valuable and necessary lesson for both of them to learn in this room. The minutes spin out and she settles into the silence, not so much because she wants to but because she wants him. All of him, however he wants to offer himself to her.

 

“I am impressed, my love, I wasn’t sure you could be still and wait for me to speak first.”

 

She wants to look up but she knows she’ll cry. She can hear the delight in his voice and that’s all she needs for the moment, that and his hand in her hair, stroking and pulling softly.

 

“Do you want to keep going?”

 

“Yes.” The word is out before she knows it’s there but that’s okay, the happy sound he makes at her eager response is worth everything. She’s not sure if she’s allowed to ask questions but she has to know. “Will there be more punishment?”

 

“Will your answer change if I say yes?”

 

“No.” She wants to explain that. Instead she spends the chance to ask something she wants to know more. “Do you want to keep going?”

 

His answer isn’t as quick but when it comes she knows he means it. “Yes. We’ve come this far, we might as well poke our curious little noses into a few more places, don’t you think? There’s a lot to learn here. For both of us.”

 

That’s their magic, she knows. They’re always on the same page, often before they even know there’s a page. Their immediate, unguarded reaction is always _how will this make us better together?_

 

She moves around to look up at him, needing to see his face, his beautiful eyes that capture her like gold captures a dragon. “True north,” she whispers, the words tumbling out from behind her smile. She’s so in love with him it leaves her breathless.

 

“You did call me that.” He’s wearing a mix of delight and gotcha and for a minute she can’t even think about what he’s saying, she can only smile up at him. “When we met. You did, didn’t you?”

 

She had. Not by plan or even choice, it’s just that when she saw him that’s what popped into her head, the answer to _h_ _old your compass and look for true north._ That’s what he looked like to her, what he felt like from the moment she stepped into the same air as him. Of course she couldn’t tell him that, not 20 seconds after his beautifully dreamy eyes turned her direction, so when he asked her to repeat what she said she stammered and blushed and said _you must be Alistair._ He had known she said something else but she’s long maintained he was mistaken. Until now, of course, and she has to laugh. He finally has her caught.

 

“I did. I looked at you and said ‘you must be true north’ and then I wanted to die of embarrassment, because Maker’s breath, who says that to someone they’ve just met?”

 

“Still. You’ve been fibbing to me, young lady.”

 

She knows he isn’t fully serious but that doesn’t matter, his words catch fire somewhere on the way to her, stealing the air and leaving her breathless. She wants to say something but hasn’t she talked enough, wasn’t she supposed to be quiet? She nods slowly, waiting. _Please not th_ _e_ _no touching or looking_ she thinks, but steels herself for it anyway because if that’s what he wants to do again she signed up to go with it.

 

But he’s in a playful mood, more mischievous than anything and when he moves to stand up from the bed her holds her hand to bring her with him.

 

She’s no sooner standing than he pulls her against his chest, his arms wrapping around her tightly, enough to feel the pressure in her ribs. He keeps one hand on her back, splayed wide to keep her pressed in place, the other one moving up to slide into her hair. He closes his hand, gathering a fist full of her hair, pulling in the way he knows unhinges her, not hard and fast but hard and slow, drawing the pain out enough to twist it into pleasure.

 

She thinks she’s done for, burning up to become ashes in his arms but he’s not done with her, he pulls her head back to expose her throat and she can’t stop the gasping moan, the soft _Maker, please_ that comes with it. His lips are on her neck and she’s not aware she’s still saying it, _please_ coming with each breath, her need building in a way she’s never felt, with an intensity she wouldn’t have thought possible.

 

“Please what.” His words are hot and soft on her throat, warming the skin a bare second before he bites down. “Please what, my sweet little love?”


	5. Chapter 5

What she wants to say is _please, I need you so much it hurts._ That's not what makes its way out.

 

“Give me your cock,” she growls, each word more demanding than the last. She doesn’t mean to command him but she's no longer able to command herself.

 

And he knows it. He laughs against her skin, his pleasure as pure as her imperious demand. He pulls her hair harder, just past the point of good pain, as he bites down on her neck again, hard enough to leave a mark. He walks her backwards quickly, moving her like she’s nothing at all, a feather in his hands. When her legs touch the bed frame she tries to drop backwards onto the bed, to pull him down with her. She doesn’t get the chance, in a matter of seconds he’s turned her around and pushed her down on the bed. She bites back another noise, scream or curse or ungodly wail, as he pushes her legs apart and flips her gown up, triumph and need pushing her over an edge she hadn’t seen coming.

 

But he has other plans, her soft, sweet lover, he’s not pushing his pants down to push into her. Instead he steps in as close as he can and lifts her hips to settle his hard cock at the very top of her butt, bucking his hips to press the length along her tailbone. He puts one hand on the back on her neck, pinning her down on the bed.

 

“Your wish is my command,” he says, somehow managing to both laugh at growl at her. He holds her still easily, one hand on her neck and one on the swell of her hip. When he has his rhythm in place he leans over, moving his hand to her shoulder so he can put his mouth where his hand was. He bites down hard, growling ragged breaths on her skin.

 

Appetite for food isn’t the only thing that increases when one becomes a Grey Warden and she’s drowning in that now. Between her heart and her cunt she’s undone, for the first time in her life too overwrought to do anything but whimper at him.

 

“Please, I need you so, please, my heart, please.”

 

Her begging pushes him, he bites harder and thrusts faster, rubbing against her until it hurts, the delicate skin tearing and lighting up as sweat and come gets ground in. She finds herself drawing back down as before, everything condensing to a pinpoint of need and love. The physical pain is sharp enough to turn into desire and desire becomes sharp enough to turn into a stabbing pain that works its way from her cunt to her heart.

 

 _Please please please_ and when his breathing catches and accelerates the words become sobs, she can only cry out with him, as he bites down and cries out against her neck, as he comes all over her back.

 

He steps back quickly, one moment he’s hot coals against her skin, the next he’s somewhere behind her, pulling his pants up and righting himself.

 

She wants to calm down and can’t, can’t uncoil her muscles, can’t process the pain into something manageable. She’s never been so completely aroused in her life and it hurts, there’s a thunderstorm feeling building in her groin and she doesn’t know how to handle it. She buries her face in the mattress and tries to ignore how exposed she is, tries to pretend he won’t see the wetness dripping down to her knees.

 

She hears him moving and has to turn to watch, eyes curious and considering as she watches him move to a chair by the fire. He sits down and settles in, relaxed and happy, looking like he’s having the time of his life. Something clicks in her, her heart opening in a way she should have seen coming. She’s suffering badly, in many ways, the poised and pampered young woman who has always walked with the leash of her world held firmly in her hand. The Seawolf’s daughter, Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire, who is far too used to getting her way, of being in charge, has been left sore and in want, has been used for the simple pleasure of the man she can’t take her eyes off of. And she’s happy about it, for no other reason than the look of supreme delight on his handsome face.

 

She’s not melting from love and desire because he’s suddenly shown himself to be strong enough to put her in her place. She doesn’t need to be put in place by anyone other than herself. She’s not one to flourish under a yoke, no matter how lovingly it might rest on her, but as she looks at him, watches him watch her with such complete love and devotion, she understands she would give that to him, were he to ask. She is as thoroughly devoted to him as he is to her.

 

“Anything for you, my love,” she whispers, knowing it to be the truest words she’ll ever speak.


	6. Chapter 6

He points to the floor between his feet, the most casual of gestures, but there's no doubt in it, that she won't obey. It isn't an insulting gesture, no _heel, bitch_ , it's _come to me now, my love_ and she wants to do that as much as she wants to breathe. She can't help but smile about it, too, how easy ruling her is for him, how naturally he's taken to it. How he already has enough confidence in what's happening that he can make a simple motion of his hand into an absolute command. She walks slowly, watching him, trying to get a read, if such a thing is possible in this room tonight.

 

She also tries to smooth herself as she walks, knowing she's less than poised and elegant. He looks nothing but regal, his tousled hair and disheveled pants don't detract from that at all. She doesn't think she's faring as well. Her cheeks are red and wet from tears and her back is wet from him, her gown stuck to her skin in a way that's both embarrassing and arousing. Add in her tangling hair and she feels grubby, but he's still looking at her like she's every dream he's ever had. She doesn't hesitate to sit down between his legs or think to ask before resting her cheek on the inside of his thigh but she knows she doesn't need to. She knows his want, this time at least. He puts his hand on her head, splayed out for a moment to cover the side before working his fingers into her hair.

 

“We talk first, and then we get to the dark and dirty bits.”

 

She nods against his leg and settles in. They aren’t just dealing with fun and games here; she was more right about lessons than she would have guessed. They’re playing around with some strange new ways of being together and that’s all well and fine but in the morning they have to put on armor and start raising an army. If there’s a problem between them romantically it’s going to show quickly and they both know they can’t afford that distraction.

 

“What have we learned?” he asked. It’s both a serious question and a tease. She sometimes thinks that what she loves the most about him, that he can be so light about even the most important things. That’s another thing people always get wrong about him, he jokes to make the burden lighter to pick up, not to avoid doing so.

 

She knows the answer is important but she can’t resist a joke any more than he can. “That my mother was right about me after all, I’m entirely too full of myself.”

 

“Just wait until you’re entirely too full of me.”

 

She’s not sure how he means it but it can only hit her one way, low down and straight to the crotch. “I’m trying to and I hate it, thank you.”

 

“No you don’t.” He sounds far too amused and sure of that.

 

She wants to argue that point and can’t. Not wanting it isn’t the same as hating it. The tease hurts but it’s also lighting her up in new and exciting ways. He is. She has to laugh, even as she blushes and tries to hide against his leg.

 

“I see it in your face sometimes, the strain of carrying this on your back." He speaks softly but there's nothing really soft about his expression. He is as serious as she's ever seen. "It’s taken this much time and effort to get one small piece into place and we’re not even near the really hard parts. I can see it wearing on you already and I want nothing more than to take the responsibility off your shoulders and I know I can’t. A good leader is one who can accept he might not be the best one for a particular job. We both know you are far more suited to this than I am, but that doesn’t mean I should have left you feeling like you’re trapped under the weight. You should have always known you can decide to step down and I’ll carry you and the torch, my love, for as long as I need to.”

 

She could cry about that, she thinks, break down and sob against his soft, strong thigh from simple relief. Leading is always a burden, even when you want to do it the weight sometimes feels like it will crush you to death. That they're literally trying to save the world makes it tenfold. She wants to rail about it, has wanted to from the moment she understood this is why it was so important for her to make it out of Howe's treachery alive. She doesn’t waste time on it, knowing it will do no good. It won’t save her life, or her love.

 

She blinks back the tears as well as she can and smiles up at him. She wants to say something but can’t really find anything that isn’t already known.

 

He moves her head on his leg, turning it so she’s looking more at the ceiling. He strokes his fingers over her wet cheeks and paints her lips with her tears before letting his hand slide down to find his favorite spots.

 

“When you need to, when the weight gets too much and you need a night’s break, you come to me and kneel, my love, and I will take command of you. When the morning comes I will be your most solid support, your most dutiful, devoted love.”

 

She knows she probably shouldn’t move, no matter the words they’re still in that gray area of who might be in charge but she can’t not do it, she has to sit up, to reach up and paint with his trickle of tears.

 

“And when you take the throne I will do the same for you, my King.”

**Author's Note:**

> Look it was just supposed to be me remembering how to write smut but nooo, emotional psychodrama had to stick its nose in, too. Stg the next one will be pure pornography.
> 
> Also, soundtrack: The Who - Love, Reign O'er Me (duh)


End file.
